Phantom Hazards
by SChimes
Summary: Picking up a few weeks after the events of the finale. The Major Crimes division find themselves pulled into another complicated case, while Sharon struggles with the new uncertainties in her and Rusty's lives. But as the case unfolds and begins to hit sensitive chords for more than one of the team members, she might learn exactly how dangerous splitting her focus can be.
1. Prologue

**Hiatus woes hitting hard again! Too much happened this season, and it's scrambled with my brain and feels again to the point where I'm back to braving two ongoing multi-chapters at once. Who needs sanity, anyway...**

** This is my second attempt at a story that's relatively team- and case-heavy, so please take it with a grain of salt since crime drama is still nowhere near my strong suit. ****Just like before, this story picks up a few weeks after the events of the season finale (*unhappy sounds*), and will draw heavily on canon in terms of where the characters are and what they're dealing with.**

**Phantom Hazards (1)**

"I don't think anyone is happy with what we've just watched."

Sharon let out a silent sigh, and couldn't find a way to disagree.

The TV screen in Chief Taylor's office was paused on an image of one of her team's interviews from several months previous. Before that, they'd watched brief clips from various other interviews, and the collective did not paint a happy picture.

FID Sergeant Staples heaved a sigh of his own and continued, "But," (he gave a lopsided nod) "it's also true that as far as _this_ complaint against Det. Sanchez goes, the suspect's lying. I've reviewed all the evidence, myself. The detective never touched him."

"I don't care if he did or didn't!" The other person in Taylor's office beside Staples, Sharon and the Assistant Chief himself, City Attorney Gloria Lim looked like a woman on the warpath. "There's a complaint, and there's a long-standing pattern of excessive use of force." She glared at the rest of them, "If your suspect's lawyer gets his hands on these incidents, forget the complaint – we'll go straight to a lawsuit!"

Taylor and the sergeant said nothing, but their pinched expressions clearly showed agreement.

Sharon stepped up. "Det. Sanchez is aware of the issues regarding his professional conduct. He's received several warnings, and is in mandatory anger management training – "

"And according to Sgt. Staples," the city attorney interrupted, "the psychologist's report at the end of the first month shows that Sanchez is _un_cooperative and shows no real interest in the anger management! Which is probably _why_ we're here now discussing your suspect's claim that the detective beat him up!"

Sharon didn't let her composed tone slip. "That claim is completely spurious – and as the sergeant's just made clear, there is plenty of evidence to prove so."

"_This_ time. What about the next complaint, or the one after that?" The woman actually pointed a commanding finger at her as she lectured, "We need to be fully covered here. I want Sanchez on desk duty, or suspended or – _anything_, I don't care if you have him fetching you _coffee_, as long as he's no longer allowed contact with persons of interest in your cases."

Sharon's eyebrows drew together. "You're suggesting that I punish my detective because a murder suspect _lied_ about being assaulted," she clarified.

"Well he made a great lucky guess who to lie _about_, don't you think?"

"That doesn't make it any more justified to take action against Det. Sanchez on that basis."

Taylor cut in before the city attorney could retort. "The point remains, Captain..." He pursed his lips, frowning. "If Julio isn't taking anger management seriously, _if_ he's not putting an actual effort into correcting his conduct... then he's out. This department doesn't need another lawsuit." He gave her a warning look. "_Neither_ does Major Crimes."

Sharon wished that she had grounds to argue. But little as she liked the city attorney's meddling, not to mention her inflexible, dismissive approach...the point did remain. This wasn't coming out of the blue.

She dipped her head slightly. "Det. Sanchez has personally assured me that he would take the training seriously," she stated. "I will talk to him again today... and _if_ necessary, we can all have a meeting with him..." (she glanced at the calendar on the wall) "early next week, to discuss his progress on– "

"Tomorrow." At Sharon's look, the city attorney clarified: "The meeting with Sanchez. _Tomorrow_. Look, I don't think you realize just how urgent this issue is," she argued when Sharon's eyes narrowed. "If word gets out, if another Peter Goldman comes along and starts pooling the complaints together, we could have another lawsuit for tens of millions of dollars!"

"There are _no_ other complaints against Det. Sanchez –"

"Because no one's gotten those men that he beat up organized! If some lawyer with a grudge hears about this..." The other woman threw her hands up. "It's a damn goldmine! We've had _six_ incidents in the last _year_ – and I'm not even counting the time he discharged his gun on a street full of civilians."

"The man he discharged it at had just _shot_ one of our witnesses _twice,_ in a drive-by," Sharon enunciated. She saw the point in having this discussion, yes, but the manner in which it was being conducted was wearing on her patience.

"FID also cleared Det. Sanchez on that count," Sgt. Staples put in, "and decided that he acted fully withi- "

"On _that_ count!" Lim didn't even let him finish. "How about that man he beat up not two months ago, who ended up _dead_?! Or – what about that suspect who came in with a split lip and a black eye, a week and a half later? Plus everything we've just watched on these interview tapes." She crossed her arms and turned to Taylor. "Something needs to be done."

"Something _is_ being done," Sharon said firmly. "Julio has been given an official warning, and he's being closely supervised by myself and my lieutenants. I'll talk to him again today about his progress in anger management training."

Taylor nodded. "Good," he agreed, cutting off the city attorney's further argument. He rumbled a displeased sigh, "And tomorrow, I want him in this office, explaining to us why he's not taking it seriously. And he better make it a good explanation," he added, with a meaningful look to Sharon. She dipped her head again in acknowledgment, and he looked satisfied. "Alright. We'll discuss what other measures to take, if any, at that point."

He caught Sharon's gaze for another brief moment, as though to repeat his earlier point about Julio making a good case for himself; then his attention was diverted by the ringing phone on his desk. "Excuse me," he murmured, dismissing the two officers with a brief nod before he walked over to pick up the phone. "This is Assistant Chief Taylor..."

Sharon absently wondered how many years in the position it would take to make him sound less irritatingly smug about it.

* * *

"Look, Julio never touched that guy. I was right there with him, and I can tell you – there was _none_ of the... usual enthusiasm." Provenza at least had the decency to grimace when she cut him a wry look. "Now, I know what you're thinking, but I'm telling you, that complaint against Julio is _complete _and utter _bull– _"

"I know." Sharon cast a tired glance at the cup on her desk, but there was no tea left in it. "I know, Lieutenant," she repeated. "The video of the arrest shows that the complaint is ungrounded."

"Then why were FID and the city attorney in Taylor's office with you?"

Why, indeed. She sighed, and shook her head without a response. Through the glass wall of her office, she could see Julio's desk clearly. He was watching them, too; his gaze dropped when it met hers. There was a stubborn hunch to his shoulders.

Sharon looked back to Provenza.

He mirrored her unhappy head shake, and muttered, "Damn it."

She returned a quiet hum of agreement. After letting a moment pass in silence, she let out a breath and straightened her shoulders. "Would you mind sending Julio in here, please? I need to talk to him."

The lieutenant's eyebrows arched in alarm. "Now – wait a second... you're not going to do anything drastic, are you? Look, Julio's been acting – well, he's been acting more hotheaded than usual, I'm not saying that's not true, but..."

"His behavior over the past year has escalated to a documented, alarming pattern of excessive use of force," Sharon said flatly. "And I'm currently seeing little evidence of an effort to correct it." She met Provenza's eyes, her voice quiet but determined. "That's more than hotheadedness, Lieutenant. You know that as well as I do. It would be irresponsible of me, as Julio's commanding officer _and_ as someone who cares about him, to stand by and let things continue on this path."

"Well that's why you've sent him to anger management, isn't it?" the lieutenant protested, exasperated. "That'll get him back in line – hey, look how well it worked for Flynn all these years! He can even go... _weeks,_ now, without someone complaining about him!"

She remained unamused. "Just send Julio in here, please."

Provenza exhaled, and he gave her an ambivalent expression.

Sharon's eyebrows arched slightly. When he still didn't show any hurry to do as she'd requested, she asked mildly, "Is there anything else...?"

The lieutenant opened his mouth, but changed his mind about it halfway through.

He wasn't crazy about the manner of his dismissal – but the Captain had been shorter-tempered lately, and he didn't need to wonder why. His gaze slid, involuntarily, to the pile of papers stacked on far corner of her desk.

She seemed to have dedicated that one corner solely to documentation on the search for Phillip Stroh, and he could tell that the stack grew higher and messier each week. But with over a month gone by now and no real leads... it wasn't looking so good. He'd been on the force enough to know how these things went. The trail went cold after the first few hours. A day cut the odds by almost three-quarters. A _month_... well, Stroh might as well have been gone for ten years at that point, for all their chances of tracking him down. Provenza knew that, and he knew that Raydor knew that just as well.

He didn't begrudge her the shorter fuse.

And he wouldn't admit it to anyone, either, but on his way out of work, he drove by her building almost every evening. Just in case. An extra look couldn't hurt, could it? Not that Stroh was stupid enough to be hanging anywhere _near_ there, of course, he was probably halfway across the world by now...

...But an extra look didn't hurt.

Provenza wasn't so sure that he was the only one doing the extra looking, either. He could've sworn he'd spotted an awfully familiar-looking Prius, once.

It was a goddamn miserable situation, and he was too old to expect life to be fair but damn if he didn't feel goddamn angry about it.

Maybe Sanchez wasn't the only one around who could use the anger management.

Under Raydor's pointed look, he gave in and groaned, "Yes, I'll send Julio right in, Captain...". He left her office with a muted grumble under his breath – and as he stepped out into the murder room, he glared his displeasure at Julio, for good measure.

* * *

Sharon watched the lieutenant walk over to Julio's desk, and lean over it slightly to mutter what she assumed was the thirty-second version of a 'get your act together' lecture before he sent the detective to her office. She couldn't see Julio's face to tell how he was receiving the lecture – but she _could_ tell that everyone else was trying very hard to look like they weren't eavesdropping. They were terrible at it.

She let her head drop, looking yearningly at the teacup again. Her stomach hurt a little; she glanced at her bag, estimating if she had enough time to take some sort of antacid before the detective came in. Probably not. It could wait.

She glanced at her phone, instead. Its screen was blank and quiet.

She was developing some sort of neurosis around that phone, she thought. It felt like she hadn't put it down in over a month. She carried it everywhere, these days. On her person. At hand. She charged it religiously and hadn't switched it to silent mode in weeks, and still there was a constant cloud of anxiety hovering around it, that made her heart jump whenever it rang and her chest tighten whenever it didn't.

The specter of Phillip Stroh cast a frighteningly long shadow.

The stack of notes on the left side of her desk was growing every day. But there were never any news, no leads, not a scrap of real information to speak of. As much as she could, she tried to not let it interfere. Sometimes, she even managed to think about other things.

She was halfway through another sigh when there was a light knock on the open door. She looked up, fully expecting to see Julio. But it wasn't – Andy was standing in the doorway, instead, and the surprise easily dissolved the stern expression that she'd been about to adopt.

It threw her off-balance, a little, too. "Andy...Where's Julio?"

He gave a slight nod toward the murder room. "We might have a case. Taylor's waiting for you before he gives us any details."

"Oh." It took her a moment to shift gears, and she directed a somewhat-absent look over into the murder room. Taylor _was_ there, looking all business. "Alright..."

Andy gave her a concerned onceover as she pushed her chair back to get up. But he didn't say anything, only stepping aside to let her pass in front of him, before following her over to where the Assistant Chief was waiting.

* * *

It was running hot on the news – the grainy aerial-view images of a nondescript Sedan rolling down I-10, a good half dozen police cars blasting their sirens behind it. After a few seconds of high-speed car chasing, the film cut to a different scene, of the now-motionless vehicle stopped by an empty stretch of road, the cop cars surrounding it on all sides. Then the camera panned over an ambulance sitting a few yards away, paramedics pulling a sheet over a body on the ground while officers milled about wearing grim expressions.

Taylor muted the TV, and turned to the Major Crimes team gathered around the conference room table.

"Car chases never end well," Tao murmured knowingly; it prompted a derisive scoff from Flynn:

"Yeah, especially when the driver tries to shoot at the police. What kind of idiot drives himself into a dead end, then figures he can shoot his way out against a dozen cops?"

"Maybe he didn't want to be taken alive," opined Amy.

"If that was the case, he got his wish," Taylor deadpanned. "And became a star on all the local news stations in the process."

With a flick of the remote, he flipped the channel, only to have a very similar scene show up again, and a third time when he flipped to another news broadcast. With an annoyed grimace, he turned away from the TV and faced them again.

"I can't help but notice that none of these channels give his _name_," drawled Provenza. "Might our mystery drive be someone... _important_? Someone we wouldn't _want_ all over the news channels? A friend of the Mayor's, for instance?"

Taylor rolled his eyes at the derisive tone. "The driver's name was Johnny Farris," he provided wryly. "Small-time crook, Robbery-Homicide's been looking for him in connection to one of their cases a few months back. Traffic officer pulled him over for a broken taillight and noticed that the vehicle was flagged in the system."

"Huh. Nice when that actually happens," commented Amy.

Taylor only continued to look sour. "The officer called for back-up, but Farris caught on and took off." He waved at the TV. "Made his way west on I-10 until he decided to exit at the Fairfax avenue exit...then he took a bad turn into a road under construction. When there was nowhere left to go, he pulled out a gun." He sighed, then added, "By that time, there were a couple of news helicopters circling. Caught the whole incident on camera."

Tao arched his eyebrows. "Should make it easy for FID to clear the officers involved, at least..."

"That's not the problem."

"So if the guy's dead," frowned Andy, "and he was just a small-time robber _anyway_, what about this makes it a major crime, exactly?"

Taylor heaved another displeased sigh. He glanced back at the TV screen, just in time for the reporter's face to cut back to another recording from the scene; the news crews had obviously not been allowed to get too close, but they'd gotten a good enough angle to show one of the officers pop open the trunk of the car.

The cameras were also close enough to show his startled expression, that quickly turned into a grimace of involuntary disgust as the young officer pulled back. Within seconds, a few others had gathered around the open trunk. They all wore similarly grim looks and wrinkled noses. Someone half-heartedly waved one of the paramedics over.

The TV screen then cut back to the reporter.

"Ah," said Provenza. And he exchanged a knowing look with Sharon.


	2. Balancing Act

**Thank you all for your lovely comments on the first chapter! **

**Phantom Hazards (2)**

"So, let me get this straight..." Provenza arched wry eyebrows. "You've already got patrol officers, Traffic, _and_ Robbery-Homicide involved in this mess – and it's safe to assume that FID isn't far behind, what with the suspect now _dead_... and you think what this situation needs is _another_ division on the case?" He scoffed incredulously, "Who's _in_ that trunk, _Elvis_?"

Taylor spared him an unamused sideways glare. "We don't know yet. That's the problem. The body's on its way to the ME, but apparently it's in pretty bad shape, and there was no ID on it." He glanced briefly back at TV, where the titles 'high-speed car chase', 'driver killed in shootout' and 'mystery body' were rolling in bold black letters across the top of the screen. Then he rolled his eyes, "I've only heard about this less than half hour ago, and I've _already_ got reporters calling my cell phone. This story is going to be running on all the news channels, until we figure out who that dead body in the trunk belongs to, and how they died." He gave them all a pointed look. "So I want that figured out. _Sooner,_ rather than later."

Sharon didn't bother to argue. "John Farris was connected to a Robbery-Homicide case, and his death falls under FID's purview. If we're taking over the investigation, then we're going to need all relevant files and evidence brought up from – "

"No, no," Taylor interrupted. "I'm not giving you the case."

Her eyebrows rose slowly. "You're not," she repeated in a deliberate tone. It took a small effort to refrain from asking why they were even having the conversation, in that case.

"Robbery-Homicide can't process the scene, not with two of their detectives involved in the OIS," he clarified. "Until FID files their report on Farris' death, it's better if no one in Robbery-Homicide has any in the active investigation... it spares us unnecessary legal trouble down the road."

Sharon suppressed an eye-roll. That sounded like a pretext, and not even a particularly good one, at that. There were plenty of amendments to the rule he was invoking: the second dead body being clearly unrelated to the OIS, Robbery-Homicide could've easily investigated it...and besides, there were well over a dozen detectives in that division, and it would've been easy to pick a couple who'd had nothing to do with the Farris case previously.

But no. The real reason to pull Major Crimes in was that Taylor wanted a speedy conclusion, and for _that_, her team was his best bet by far. However, by not transferring them the case officially, he was saving himself overtime budget and a lot of paperwork explaining why it was necessary to involve her elite division . In other words, it was a move that worked out entirely to his advantage.

And if that move left _them_ not only doing work that wouldn't count toward their stats in any way, but also in a very dubious position in terms of investigative authority, well...Sharon was sure that the Assistant Chief was extremely distressed by that.

But she spoke none of her thoughts aloud. It wouldn't have lead anywhere but to an unnecessary and uncomfortable argument.

"I want you to look into the second body, while FID processes the OIS-related death," Taylor went on with his instructions. "After seventy-two hours, you can turn whatever you've got back over to Robbery-Homicide."

Sharon smoothly cut over the beginning of Flynn and Provenza's indignant protests. "If we're investigating the second victim's cause of death," she said in her best business tone, "we might still need information about Farris – his file from Robbery-Homicide, as well as other evidence from the crime scene."

The Assistant Chief waved a hand, "Fine. Get what you need from Robbery-Homicide. Just get to the bottom of this," he repeated. "Because those news helicopters caught the whole thing on tape, it's already all over the social media as well." He looked irritated. "The longer this goes on without some answers, the worst it'll look for the LAPD."

"Can't have _that_," muttered Provenza.

He ignored the glare from Taylor, and wondered if the refusal to officially hand them the case meant that they wouldn't work overtime and he could still make it to dinner with Patrice.

* * *

In his opinion, the Captain didn't look sufficiently annoyed by the fact that they were essentially being used as glorified crime scene techs – and without any overtime, too! – but Provenza could understand why she wouldn't want to bother with a lost battle. If Taylor wanted them to do Robbery-Homicide's legwork for free, there wasn't a whole lot that any of them could do about it.

He dropped back into his chair and swiveled it slightly to face her as she began to talk.

"Let's work on ID-ing the victim while we wait for Dr. Morales' report on cause of death. Mike, can you ask SID to send us any prints they collected so we can run them through AFIS?"

Tao had sat down as well, and was already checking his computer. "Yes... oh. Actually, I think they might've already sent them over..." His eyes moved quickly as he read whatever was on his screen, then he pressed a few keys. "Yup. We got the prints from SID. I'll start the search. And I think they're faxing us the CI's preliminary report, too, we should have that in a minute."

The Captain nodded her thanks, already moving on. "We're also going to need that information on the dead driver – Andy, can you please get someone in Robbery-Homicide to send us his file? And – Mike," (she turned back to Tao), "the car should be in SID's print shed soon. I'd like you to go and take another look at the trunk where the dead body was found." She pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking. "We'll have to share the rest of the crime scene evidence with FID... I'll contact them and set that up."

As she conjured her phone seemingly out of thin air, Provenza idly tried to remember the last time he'd seen her without it. He couldn't; she might as well have been glued to the damn thing, lately. She took a long, thoughtful look at the screen, before walking a few steps to the side to call whoever she wanted to talk to in FID. (Satan, probably.)

He watched her for a moment as she dialed, and though _God knew_ that he'd never been accused of possessing much in the way of empathy, he couldn't help but admire her balancing act. It was damn impressive. Anyone could say what they willed, but Raydor could certainly juggle a whole lot of nasty balls at once... _and,_ she made a good show of it, too. It probably took... well, it probably took a whole damn lot. More than he'd thought she had in her when they'd first began to butt heads over Major Crimes. He knew better, now.

Behind him, the printer buzzed to life, bringing his thoughts back on the present. Provenza quit staring at the Captain (_one_ idiot doing that all day was enough, thank you very much) and walked over to pick up the fax of Kendall's initial findings.

He shook his head as he skimmed the two-page report. No murders ever looked _good_, but some just looked _particularly_ depressing, and this one was quickly shaping up to fit that bill. There were a lot of sick bastards in this world, that much was sure.

"Yeah, I _know_ he's the guy from the car chase, why do you think I'm asking?!" At the next desk, Flynn had obviously gotten through to Robbery-Homicide. "Just – yeah, and now _we're_ working the dead body in his trunk." A pause. "The freakin' Easter bunny – who do you _think_ put us on the case? Yeah – of _course_ it was Taylor... Look, just get someone up here with your case file on the guy, okay? Yes. _No_ we're not working with FID...what the hell's the matter with you?"

He gave Provenza his exasperated 'can you believe this idiot' look, and Provenza shrugged back with a smirk. He'd never stop finding it entertaining to hear Flynn talk to Robbery-Homicide. The man tended to revert a little to his younger self, then. The self that got sent to sensitivity training at least a couple of times and racked up two dozen reprimands for his loud mouth.

It was hilarious, really.

At her desk, Sykes was just ending what looked like a far more pleasant phone conversation. "Both Farris and our second victim just made it to Dr. Morales," she provided after hanging up. "He'll call as soon as he's got anything for us."

Provenza nodded, then turned his attention back to the Captain as she ended her own call and walked back over to them.

"Sgt. Elliot is sending us copies of the crime scene photos," she updated, "and they'll keep us up to date on any new evidence from the scene." Her gaze fell on the paper in the lieutenant's hands. "Is that the CI's preliminary report?"

Provenza handed it to her. "Looks like the body in the trunk was female. Kendall put her age between eighteen-nineteen and twenty-six. He doesn't have an exact estimate of cause of death, but..."

Her lips twisted as she read: "Significant trauma to the head and upper body." She looked up from the page to meet his eyes, and murmured, "She was beaten to death...?"

The lieutenant sighed. "Or run over, pushed out of a moving vehicle...it's _possible_ that she could've had some sort of accident, as far as we know."

Sharon nodded vaguely, but she looked as unconvinced as he felt. People who died in accidents didn't usually end up stuffed in trunks. "Did John Farris have a history of violent behavior?"

"If he did, it's not in his arrest record." Julio glanced up from his computer screen as he updated them: "He was busted once for petty theft, and caught buying drugs and soliciting a couple of times, but there's nothing in here about battery or assault."

"Robbery-Homicide's file on him might have more details," offered Sykes.

Flynn confirmed, "Yeah. They're sending someone up with it."

He got in one last eye-roll over his phone call with Robbery-Homicide, and Provenza shot him back a commiserating eyebrow-wriggle. Then his eyes returned to the Captain as she read through the CI's report, and his thoughts to the young woman likely beaten to death and stuffed in a trunk.

* * *

Sharon took another few moments to read the rest of the report, but there wasn't much more detail. The body had been in bad enough shape that Kendall hadn't been able to draw many more conclusions beside her gender, age and a quick summary of the extensive trauma. There were no crime scene photos available for them, yet – they'd have to wait on SID to send some over, and then on FID for whatever other crime scene evidence they had...

The prints were running, but it could be a while before AFIS returned any hits. The ME's preliminary analysis, too, would also take at least another hour, if not longer. Normally, Sharon would've used this time to look into the driver and notify his next of kin, but _that_ wasn't their case, as Chief Taylor had made abundantly clear, so that left them with... nothing.

She hated dead time. Especially when it was late in the afternoon already, _and_ late in the week, and they were all tired and not at all eager to stay over time expending their efforts for a case they couldn't even lay proper claim to and no extra pay.

She hated it even more _now_, when so much of her worried about every second she spent away from home. Always weighing the necessity of doing her job against constant anxiety over the safety of her child... It was a fragile balance on the best of days.

No. Time, these days, was too precious to waste waiting around. She could do more.

She turned to her youngest detective. "Amy. Could you contact Dr. Morales and ask if he can get us dental records right away? ID-ing our victim is a priority, and I'd like more than just her prints to go on."

The younger woman acknowledged immediately. "I'll call the morgue."

Sharon frowned as she thought of something else: "The car – Chief Taylor said it was flagged in the system. Let's find out _why..._ and let's check that it was actually registered to John Farris," she added as an afterthought. If it _wasn't_ his car, they might just have another suspect... one who wasn't dead and under FID's authority for the moment. "And Buzz, can you please get the available footage of the car chase?"

"Uh – Captain?" Tao was putting down his phone. "SID just brought the car into the print shed. I can go take another look at the trunk where they found our victim..."

She nodded her approval. "Yes, go ahead, Mike." For another quiet moment, she surveyed the team, thinking of the next step they could take. By habit, her eyes drifted to the murder board – but other than the picture of Alice in the top corner, it was blank and empty. They didn't have a name of the current victim, or even a photo to put up there yet.

Still, at least they weren't stuck waiting around idly anymore. Everyone had something to work on, some small progress they could make while more information trickled in.

"Alright," she decided. "Let's go from here, for now. We'll re-evaluate once we have the actual evidence in hand, and the autopsy results." With that, she turned and started to head to her office... but after a couple of steps, she paused.

She'd suddenly remembered what had been going on _before_ Taylor had dropped this on them.

With a mental sigh, she half-turned back toward the team.

"Julio." She spoke his name quietly, and waited for him to look up. "I'd like to talk you in my office, please."

* * *

He waited silently across from her desk, even after she'd sat down.

Sharon held out a hand to indicate one of the chairs. "Have a seat."

He didn't. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, back straight, hands crossed behind his back. His jaw was set in a rigid line.

Sharon waited a moment to see if he planned to take her up on her offer to sit. Absurdly, she found herself hoping that she wouldn't have to have this talk craning her neck up at him; that was a headache waiting to happen.

A ridiculous thing to be worried about, at the moment.

When a few seconds ticked by and Julio still made no move to sit, she arched her eyebrow, just a little.

"I didn't _touch_ that guy! ...Ma'am." The belated addition didn't do much to make his vehement statement sound better.

"I know."

Julio looked doubtful. He didn't say anything else, instead going back to staring somewhere over her shoulder.

For God's sake. She wasn't trying to get state secrets out of him...! The stony silence reminded her of the first time she'd had to interview the detective, over the Turrell Baylor disaster. It was possible that he'd been more open with her, _then_ – no small feat, considering that their interview on that occasion had consisted entirely of several minutes of pointed staring on his part.

Sharon's stomach churned with an abrupt mixture of sadness and anger. She didn't know _exactly_ what turns she'd missed, with Julio... but it couldn't be denied that she hadn't done right by him as his commanding officer. She should've paid more attention, earlier. Instead she'd let things run a questionable course because there had been so much _more_ going on, and _now_... now, whatever happened to him, she'd have at least part of the responsibility.

It did not feel good.

It felt even less good to think that it might have been too late to be useful to him, at this point.

Her silence was making Julio uncomfortable, too; fidgeting slightly, he finally looked at her, and he gave an indistinct twitch somewhere between a scowl and a shrug.

Sharon didn't know exactly what to say. Repeating her invitation to sit would've been futile, and, if he refused again, just another source of tension – which they had more than enough of, already. But she wasn't sure where to start. She hadn't figured out the best approach. If there even _was_ a best approach, she didn't know that she could trust herself to find it.

Her problem-solving skills worried her, these days.

"Does FID want me suspended?"

Sharon considered the question for a moment. She wasn't certain of the answer, herself. "It hasn't come to that point yet, no," she said judiciously.

Julio's shoulders twitched again, and his expression looked as though he were about to ask if he could go, in that case.

Sharon narrowed her eyes at him. He could refuse to sit if he wanted, but he wasn't going anywhere.

He must've read her expression correctly, because the scowl returned. "I'm doing what they wanted, Ma'am. Going to those anger management meetings. Twice a week." He sounded half-defensive, half-accusatory. "I thought that was the deal."

Hm. "The 'deal'," she replied calmly, "was that you would work to address the excessive use of force that FID identified as problematic conduct. The anger management is only a tool that's supposed to assist with that." Her head tilted. "Tell me – do you feel that it has?"

His jaw clenched stubbornly. "I didn't _hit_ that _suspect_, Captain."

Again with that. "I _know_. Julio – Sgt. Staples has already examined the video of the arrest and agreed that the complaint against you is entirely unfounded," she clarified. "That's not why we're having this conversation."

It could be that his shoulders relaxed fractionally, but it was hard to tell for sure. Another moment of dead silence followed, as he volunteered nothing else.

And Sharon still didn't know how to get to him.

She sighed, and leaned back into the seat slightly.

"How's your mother feeling?" she asked in a soft tone.

Julio paused. She could see mild confusion flicker across his face, and was suddenly embarrassed to realize that she hasn't asked him that question in over a month.

Sometimes, it was hard to remember what she _had_ done for the past month.

"She's good, Ma'am," said Julio. "Her ribs are totally healed."

Sharon smiled. "And her back?"

The corners of his lips turned fractionally upward. "Doctor told her she could stop using the walker last week. Now she wants me to let her drive herself to the supermarket."

Her smile grew, a little. She liked Julio's mother. "That sounds like a good sign for her recovery," she joked.

Julio smirked, briefly, but after a moment his expression turned neutral again, and he shifted in his spot once more. "With all due respect, Captain... I don't think you called me in here to talk about my mother."

Oh.

Sharon let out a soft breath, and hoped she didn't look as disappointed as she felt about the abrupt shift. Honestly, she'd asked about Mrs. Sanchez out of genuine interest...but she also couldn't blame Julio for thinking otherwise. Considering the circumstances.

She cleared her throat, and agreed, "No." For a moment, she was silent, considering how to proceed from there. "Julio... tell me. _Do_ you find the anger management classes helpful?"

He let a moment pass in silence. Then he met her eyes, his expression studiedly blank. "Helpful in what way, Ma'am?"

Sharon pressed her lips into a thin line.

That was what she'd thought.

She really should have talked to him about this earlier.

Letting out another long breath, she leaned forward and steepled her hands in front of her. "You may not have been aware of this," she explained in a patient tone, "but since the anger management was mandated as a direct consequence of the IA investigation into your professional conduct, both Sgt. Staples and myself can request brief periodic updates on your progress, from your psychologist."

"He's not _my_ psychologist," grumbled Julio.

Ah.

Sharon wasn't a therapist – and she didn't _want_ to be. She didn't think that psychoanalyzing other people from her own limited perspective would be particularly helpful to them, so she made it a point to not make too many inferences to that effect. But it didn't take a psychiatry degree to see Julio's strong resistance to the whole idea.

"You signed up for the group anger management sessions, correct?" He nodded, and she sighed. "And how do you find them, so far?"

When the detective just shrugged again, her jaw twitched in irritation. This was excruciating – and it didn't help that she was starting to lose her patience.

"Do you feel that they're making a difference in how you're able to control your temper...?" she tried. "Is participating in this as part of a group working for you...?"

Julio shrugged – again.

Sharon exhaled impatiently.

It was ironic that _he_ was the one looking frustrated. "I don't know what you want me to say, Captain," he told her with a dark look. "I go to the meetings twice a week, like IA wants me to. I stay for the whole time. I listen to what the guy has to say. And I _haven't_. _hit._ _anyone_," he added fiercely. "Even when they deserved it." He went from glowering at the corner of her desk, to meeting her eyes again. "And if that psychologist's telling you differently, then he's lying!"

Sharon rubbed a hand to her forehead.

"He's concerned – and has expressed this concern to Sgt. Staples," she replied, "that you might not be taking the sessions as seriously as you could."

"I didn't _miss_ a single session," he repeated stubbornly.

Oh, for the love of...

That headache that she'd been anticipating had started to make its away around the back of her head.

"Julio – the point of sending you to these sessions," she spoke again, quietly, "was to give you access to a set of strategies for managing your anger, yes. But, they could also be an opportunity for you to investigate the sour – "

Her phone went off, beeping and buzzing against the desk.

For a moment, she was so focused and intent on getting through to Julio, that she fully meant to ignore the call and deal with it later. Her hand was halfway to the ignore button when she realized what she was doing – and the jarring anxiety that had accompanied nearly every phone call lately kicked in, derailing her train of thought.

She startled and glanced at the screen with renewed attention, recognizing the name of the Robbery-Homicide captain.

She couldn't let it go to voicemail. Partly because their current case had to take priority over any internal issues, especially if it was as time-sensitive as Chief Taylor had made it sound. But it was also partly because her heart had skipped a beat when she'd seen the caller ID from Robbery-Homicide, and though in the next instant it had been obvious, _completely obvious,_ that their captain was calling about the case, a small doubt at the back of her mind urged her to pick up, right away, immediately.

Sharon glanced back up at her detective. If anything, he looked relieved at the interruption and more than eager for an excuse to leave.

She let out a silent sigh as she gave it to him. "Excuse me, Julio, but I have to take this."

Unsurprisingly, he nodded "No problem, Ma'am," and took a step back.

"Please think about what we've discussed," she urged, before he could march out. "And we'll have to pick this conversation up again soon."

He retreated quickly, with a muttered "Yes, Captain" that couldn't have sounded more unenthused if he'd tried. Sharon allowed herself a brief moment to close her eyes, trying to bring some semblance of order back into her conflicting thoughts and to redirect her split attention to the still-ringing phone.

She found that her hand was shaking a little as she reached to pick it up.

* * *

**Aaand for our next installment of "Sharon is having the best day ever, and nothing is problematic at all", we will have unicorns and rainbows and confetti! Please stay tuned. **

**(...Wait, false advertising is illegal? Okay then - we will in fact continue to have murder and drama and angst! Please stay tuned anyway.) **

**;) Thank you all for reading. **


	3. Intangible Connections

**Thank you all for your comments on the last chapter! Sorry for taking two months to update...sometimes RL kicks my butt. **

**In case you forgot what happened in the previous chapters ;), here's a quick recap! The story picks up about a month or so after the finale. Stroh is still out there, Julio is still angry, people in LA are still getting murdered, and Sharon really needs a vacation. But you all know me, so I'm sure no one's surprised that instead of a vacation I gave her a murder that landed in Major Crimes after spanning FID, Robbery-Homicide, and Traffic, two dead bodies, a city attorney on the warpath, and probably high blood pressure.**

**Phantom Hazards (3)**

Lieutenant Provenza was putting crime scene photos up on the murder board when Sharon stepped out of her office again.

That could only mean that SID and FID had finally sent over the remaining evidence. Good. Time wasn't on their side, here.

She wondered if along with the photos they'd finally gotten a name for their mystery victim. As she walked over, she squinted at the board to check – and felt an involuntary grimace of sympathy at the grisly images of the beaten-up body in the trunk. A young woman, in her twenties at most...

Some parts about working Major Crimes never got easier.

"...that explains why Farris drove off when Traffic pulled him over, at least." At her desk, Amy was browsing through what looked to be more crime scene photos. "He didn't want to be caught with a dead body in his trunk."

Flynn scoffed. "Yeah. And getting in a car chase with the police was a great way to avoid that."

"Well, now, Flynn... if all criminals were _smart_," Provenza drawled as he pinned up another photo, "think of how much more the city would have to pay us." After waiting for the obligatory grin of approval from his partner, he went on, "What I'd like to know is, what makes a guy who's so far only been involved in petty thefts and small-time fraud suddenly jump to murder?"

"Bad fight with the girlfriend? Drugs?"

Provenza only grunted under his breath, a sign that he didn't think much of either theory.

As she closed the remaining distance to the murder board, Sharon confirmed that there was still no name next to the photos. "No ID on our victim yet...?"

"Ah. Captain." Provenza turned at the sound of her voice. "No ID, no official cause of death yet from Morales... and since we can't look into Farris's personal life without stepping on FID's toes," (he gave her a pointedly grumpy look) "we still have no idea why he killed her. In other words, we're still on square one, and I'm going to have to cancel my dinner plans soon." He heaved an irritated sigh.

"Maybe he _didn't_ kill her," said Amy.

Provenza rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Sykes. I suppose it _is_ possible that that young woman broke half her own bones, and then climbed into that trunk _voluntarily_."

But Amy shook her head, unfazed by the sarcasm. "I mean, maybe _Farris_ didn't kill her. He could've been getting rid of the body for someone else." She shrugged at the lieutenant. "It fits the profile better... small-time crook, Robbery-Homicide suspected him of helping out in another big case, but they had no evidence... maybe he's on someone's payroll."

At his desk, Andy lowered the file he'd been reading, and looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he gave a lopsided nod, and arched his eyebrows at Provenza in a way that clearly said 'actually, that makes sense'.

Sharon agreed. "It's worth considering the possibility," she nodded. "Let's look into Farris' finances and see if there's..." Suddenly she trailed off, her lips pursing in displeasure.

Confused, Amy directed a questioning look between her Captain and the two lieutenants. Unlike herself, they both seemed to understand what the sudden shift in mood was all about. "...Uh...Is there a problem with that...?"

Provenza turned to pin one last photo to the board. "Ohh, some folk who don't know better might call it a 'problem', sure," he said drolly – then he turned back around, eyebrows rising: "But around here, we prefer to think of it as the … gratifying _adventure,_ that is trying to investigate a murder while our prime suspect is a 'victim' in FID's case."

Sharon shot him a wry look.

He shrugged back. It wasn't as though he was _lying_.

Her narrowed eyes informed him that she did not appreciate his entirely accurate explanation of their current difficulties.

* * *

"We can't get any warrants to look into Farris' life, or finances, or anything, until FID files their report on his shooting," Flynn explained, for Sykes' benefit. "And after that, the case goes back to Robbery-Homicide...and _meanwhile_, we're sitting here trying to figure out the victim in the trunk with our hands tied behind our backs!"

His explanatory tone had quickly degenerated into something closer to indignation. Sharon acknowledged it with a quiet sigh, "I'll talk to Chief Taylor." She glanced at the board again. "What else do we have?"

Andy pointed to the file he'd been reading. "We confirmed that the car was registered to Farris. And Mike found his prints all over the trunk...so whether he killed her or not, he probably did put the body in there."

"Morales sent us a couple more photos of her face," added Provenza. "Buzz is cleaning them up for a DMV search. Oh – and the doctor also found what he thinks are defensive wounds on her hands," he pointed to one of the photos on the board, "...so _since_ we're asking our fearless leader to give us proper access to evidence, we might consider including access to Farris's body in that deal."

"So we can check if he has any wounds that match the defensive wounds on the victim," Sharon followed his train of thought. "Good point. I'll add that to our list of requests for the Chief. Did Dr. Morales confirm time of death?"

"Not yet," said Amy. "CI's initial report put it at twenty to thirty hours."

Sharon frowned. Ten hours was a long window for time of death, almost too long to be useful. She hoped that Dr. Morales would have it narrowed down by the time he was done with the autopsy.

"Alright," she murmured thoughtfully, and took a step back from the murder board. "I'll go talk to Chief Taylor about running our investigation in parallel with FID's... In the meantime – let's ask for warrants for Farris's financial records and phone records, and start making a list of family and friends who might tell us what he was doing during that ten-hour time frame. I'd like us to have a better handle on his whereabouts and activities, before we go home tonight."

* * *

As everyone went back to their tasks, Sharon let her gaze roam over Julio on her way to the door. That was another issue that she'd meant to tackle before going home that day, but that wasn't looking likely to happen, now.

The detective had been conspicuously quiet. She imagined that he wasn't much happier with her than she was with him. That had hardly been a pleasant conversation that they'd had earlier. Nor had it been particularly productive: other than confirming that Julio didn't see much value in the group anger management sessions, which Sharon had already suspected, it had taken them nowhere. And they were running out of time. Taylor wanted Julio in his office the next day, to meet with all of them and explain himself. Sgt. Staples wanted him to take the anger management more seriously. The city attorney wanted him suspended, and Julio himself wanted God-only-knew what.

Sharon only wanted a break, at this point.

For the hundredth time in the last couple of weeks, she wondered how many vacation days she had accumulated. A lot, probably. With the exception of the three days after Christmas that she'd spent with her children, she couldn't remember the last time she'd had time off. No...she'd taken Rusty to Santa Barbara for his birthday, last April. And they'd gone to King's Canyon with Ricky for a weekend in May...

It had all been less than ten months before, but it felt like ten years.

With a sigh, she dropped that train of thought. It was moot anyway, since she wasn't going anywhere. These days, she counted herself lucky if she could get a few peaceful hours on a weekend morning. It was fortunate that Rusty wasn't much of an early bird, she supposed... Saturday mornings when he inevitably slept in had quickly become her favorite times of the week. Knowing where he was and that he was likely to be there for the day, that helped loosen some of those coils of painful tension that systematically built up in her stomach over the rest of the week.

God help her, she'd gone through a good number of decades of her life without hating anyone, but she wasn't sure she could say that anymore. She'd never wanted someone dead as much as Phillip Stroh.

It was not a good feeling.

* * *

She walked the distance to Taylor's office at a deliberate pace, as she doubted that the conversation with the Assistant Chief would improve her mood. Years of experience told her that they'd never get permission to talk to anyone close to Farris until FID filed their OIS report. The risk of a lawsuit was too great if his family heard that they were looking into the man as a murder suspect, right on the heels of him being shot by several officers. But she'd ask, anyway... who knew, maybe Taylor was in a generous mood. He did want the case closed quickly.

At worst, she'd have to listen to another condescending lecture on the best and proper way to conduct investigations. It would hardly be her first – the Chief loved to hear himself talk, every bit as much if not more than his predecessor – and Sharon suspected that she was too tired to even get worked up about it, so it didn't really matter much.

Besides, regardless of whether he'd allow them to talk to Farris's associates, Taylor was likely to grant what they _really_ needed, the permission to get the man's recent financial and phone records. Between that and Robbery-Homicide's case file, it was enough for her team to go on before the next day. Sure, they were all still stuck working after hours on another division's case and for essentially no benefits...but at least they'd be able to do it in an efficient manner.

Lemons and silver linings and all that.

In fairness, there _was _one positive aspect about the situation. Having an active investigation would buy her some more time to handle the crisis with Julio. Since an ongoing case took precedence over meeting with Sgt. Staples and the city attorney, she could send Julio out the next day and get that meeting postponed. Of course, stalling wouldn't be much use if she still couldn't get through to him, but at least she'd have a few extra days to try...

...though _what _to try, Sharon didn't know.

She did know that she wanted Julio on her team. It wasn't clear that _he_ still wanted to be there, and if he didn't, it wasn't clear to her _why_, or how to help, or...anything, really – but she was done letting things unfold on their own on that front. She might've dropped that ball once, but she fully intended to pick it back up...

...somehow.

With a sigh, she checked her watch as she closed the distance to Taylor's office.

Tomorrow, she swore to herself. Tomorrow she'd think of a better way to talk to Julio. For now, she needed to focus on the case, and go over the list of things she needed from Taylor and the best way to ask for them. That by itself was sure to be an unpleasant enough conversation. She wasn't asking him for any favors, not exactly – not _this_ time – but either way the Assistant Chief was sure to posture and puff a good amount before giving in.

Sadly, she was in no position to be anything but accommodating to his posturing. She had to keep him happy. She knew that. Taylor knew that. And they both knew that the other knew that, so at least there was very little room for misunderstanding.

Sharon sighed again, and knocked on the office door.

* * *

The best that could be said about the conversation with Taylor was that it had been short. Less than ten minutes later Sharon was back out in the hallway, with the permission to get the records she wanted and the strong desire to go home and call it a night.

Since the latter wasn't an option until she checked back in with the team and signed all the warrant requests, she decided on a brief detour by the break room, instead. Five-thirty p.m. wasn't too late for caffeine. Not with her job.

She'd filled the electric kettle and set it to 170F by habit, before remembering that she'd run out of her favorite green tea. She kept forgetting to bring in a new box from home. Though she must've made that mental note half a dozen times over the last couple of days, it just didn't seem to stick. Her concentration was fickle, lately.

Well...Lipton wouldn't kill her. With a small eyeroll, Sharon reached up into one of the cabinets to get a teabag, then she leaned against the counter as she waited for the water to boil, and she closed her eyes.

She had no idea that someone else had come in until an unexpected voice startled her:

"Long day, huh?"

She jumped slightly and half-turned, in time to see Andy raise his hands in an apologetic gesture: "Sorry. Didn't mean to sneak up on you. I thought you were still in with Taylor."

Sharon gave him a smile that she hoped didn't look as strained as it felt. "It was a quick meeting." A moment passed in silence as she rearranged her thoughts – the temptation to take advantage of his friendly ear flickering briefly in her mind, before she slipped into her professional tone and asked: "Any progress on ID-ing our victim?"

Andy hesitated. For a second it looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the end he just cleared his throat. "Uh...yeah. Actually. Buzz's reconstructed photo got us a hit in the DMV database." He saw her reach to turn off the kettle, and hurried to preempt her. "Hang on. Julio's cross-referencing the DMV entry with her prints, to confirm the ID, before he pulls up her history. That'll take a couple of minutes." He picked up one of the clean mugs and set it next to the kettle for her, "Besides," he smiled, "it's not like any of us are going anywhere before Morales sends up the official autopsy results calling this a murder. What's the point in hurrying? You'll just get to hear more of Provenza's complaining about his missed dinner plans with Patrice."

The corners of Sharon's lips twitched. "I see." He did have a point about having to wait on the ME's report, and she was more than happy to have an extra two minutes to make her tea. She reached for the empty mug, then tore open the teabag. "Was there any obvious connection to Farris...?"

"What? Oh. The victim. No," the lieutenant shook his head, refocusing, "at least not from her name or address. We'll see what Julio's background check turns up, I guess. Any luck, she'll be the guy's girlfriend and we'll be done with it."

Sharon hummed. "Maybe." Somehow, she doubted it would be that easy. Statistically speaking, the cases that ended up on their roster never were. She allowed for another moment of silence as she poured the steaming water into her mug, then raised her gaze to him, questioningly, "Would you like some...?"

He shook his head. "Thanks. Still trying to stay off caffeine...you know," he gave her a lopsided nod,"Nicole's been on my case about the blood pressure..."

"Ah." She replaced the kettle on its stand.

"I guess she's right," Andy added after another second, "it uh, helps with the stress and all that..."

The pointed pause that followed his statement was just unsubtle enough to make her almost-smile.

She acknowledged the hint with another hum. Yes, it probably _would_ help to reduce her caffeine intake. If she could remember, she'd bring some herbal tea to work the next day, instead of the green. But she very much doubted that that would make a significant difference to her blood pressure. Not when she spent ten hours every day wondering if that was the day that Stroh would come after Rusty.

She wrapped both hands around the mug and tried to think of something else.

Unfortunately, the only things that occurred to her were _more_ problems that needed to be handled. Julio. The case. FID.

Andy was right, it _had_ been a long day.

As he walked over to pick up a water bottle from the vending machine, Sharon used the opportunity to let her eyes close for another moment while she inhaled the scent of the tea. Only when she heard the bottle being dispensed did she open them again, and reluctantly decided that her short break was over.

The lieutenant must've reached the same conclusion; he took a couple of steps toward the door, then paused and held out a hand out for her to pass first.

"Listen, Sharon..."

She looked up as she walked by him.

"I know I'm probably starting to sound like a broken recording here, but you know that if you need anything..."

She smiled; he _had_ said that to her a dozen times over the past month. "I know. Thank you."

"Yeah..." He sighed, and gave her a sympathetic look before they both stepped out into the hallway. "Alright...Let's see if Provenza's done complaining yet."

* * *

"_No connection_?" Indignation was causing the lieutenant's voice to take an uncharacteristically high pitch. "We've been sitting here for hours – with no overtime, mind you – waiting to figure out who the heck our mystery victim is so we can finally wrap this up... and now you're telling me that there's nothing _at all_ that connects her to Farris?"

Julio shrugged. "Nothing so far, Sir."

"_Ye gods_."

Sharon shook her head to mirror his frustration. "Lets go over this again," she requested. "From the start. We might be overlooking the connection."

Julio nodded. He was still avoiding her gaze, she noticed.

"Victim's ID came back as Regina Thompson," he recapped. "Twenty-year-old sophomore at LA City College...also working part-time at a car dealership on Fountain Ave, in the sales department. Her family lives a couple of hours up north, near Bakersfield; her roommate's listed as the emergency contact."

"But there's no missing person's report," Sharon clarified.

"No, Ma'am."

"Could be that the roommate didn't know she was missing," suggested Tao. "CI's report puts TOD at thirty hours max..."

Sharon let her gaze drift to their victim's name on the board. Her lips twisted grimly, "Thirty hours is a long time to be missing."

No one disagreed.

A brief, pensive silence fell over the room, but Sharon only allowed it to go on for a moment before slipping back into her Captain's tone:

"Let's have a patrol car go to Ms. Thompson's address and check that her roommate's alright," she instructed. "Discreetly – I don't want them making any notifications. But I'd like to make sure that we only have _one_ dead body to deal with." As everyone nodded and Amy reached for the phone, Sharon took another moment to mentally review their information. "Alright...so how did this young woman end up in our Johnny Farris's trunk? Julio –" she glanced back at the detective, "you said that she had no criminal record, correct?"

He nodded. "No criminal record, no arrest record – nothing in her background indicates she was involved in anything illegal. And there's nothing there that links her to Farris, either, at least not yet."

"Could've been a wrong place, wrong time kinda situation," Andy mused. "She stumbles onto one of Farris's illegal deals, he has to get rid of her before she goes to the cops. Kills her and puts her in the trunk, gets stopped by Traffic before he can dump the body."

"He _was_ headed west on I-10 when Traffic pulled him over," nodded Mike.

Andy made a 'see, what did I tell you' gesture. "Probably to the PCH," he guessed, "and from there he could've dumped her anywhere."

"At three-thirty p.m. on a weekday?" Provenza sounded doubtful.

"Hey, you said it, if all the scumbags were _smart_..."

"Yeah," scoffed the older lieutenant, "well there's 'not smart', and then there's 'trying to dump a body off the PCH during rush hour'. Besides, LA City College is in East Hollywood..." he frowned, and peered at the Robbery-Homicide file on his desk, "and Farris's address and all his buddies' hangouts are in Compton. That's almost twenty miles – long way for this young lady to go to 'stumble onto' him."

Sharon found herself inclined to agree. "I'd like to look for their connection a little longer before we start thinking about this a crime of opportunity, yes. Let's get Regina Thompson's detailed records – including her school records, and rosters for her classes," she added as an afterthought. "As well as a list of employees from her workplace. I want to get a better idea of her social circle. Maybe one of her classmates or co-workers leads back to Farris."

"Or to someone in _his_ circle," said Mike. "We still don't know for sure that he killed her." He paused, then amended: "Technically... we don't even know for sure that she was killed, yet."

Provenza let out a warning sigh, "_Tao_..."

But Mike's reply was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside; a moment later, Dr. Morales's head appeared in the doorway.

He swept the room with a quick glance. "Ah – good, you're all still here."

Provenza rolled his eyes.

"There's nothing 'good' about that," he grumbled under his breath.

* * *

"I thought maybe Chief Taylor had changed his mind about the 'great urgency' behind this case," the ME commented as he walked in properly. "When I called Robbery-Homicide a few minutes ago to ask for your suspect's medical records, everyone involved in the case had gone home."

Flynn snorted. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Provenza's look could've soured milk. "Well, as you can see, doctor, we're all still diligently manning the lines here," he said irritably.

"Hey, I'm a little short on sympathy at the moment. This was supposed to be my day off." Morales glanced at the board as he walked closer. "Oh good, you found a name."

"Did _you_ find a _cause of death_?"

The doctor's eyebrows rose. "Is it me, or are you feistier than usual, lieutenant?"

"Happens when I have to work for longer hours and less money than usual," Provenza informed him.

"Ah. Yes, I'd heard that no one was getting overtime on this one because of five different divisions being involved." He ignored their displeased looks. "Anyway – yes, I do have a cause of death, as a matter of fact. Congratulations – it's a murder."

Provenza rolled his eyes again. "_Shocking_."

"You _are_ in a good mood," noted the doctor.

Flynn cut in before his partner could further demonstrate his discontent: "Murder, how?"

His question caused a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Everyone's expressions grew serious, as they knew that the ironic banter was over and they were about to get significant details about their victim's death – details they'd repeat over and over from now on, until they solved the case.

With a nod, Morales slipped into his professional tone. "There were multiple contusions and abrasions on this young woman's head, face and upper body, all of it consistent with a severe beating. She had three fractured ribs, both wrists broken, probably from defensive wounds, some internal organ damage from the force of the trauma – but what actually killed her was the head injuries. Several of the hits she took caused acute subdural hematomas...she might've survived longer if she'd gotten immediate medical attention, but...not _much_ longer."

Sharon crossed her arms as she listened. "And there's definitely no way that that kind of trauma could've been caused by some sort of accident."

"None. All her injuries are consistent with someone beating her. A lot," the doctor emphasized in a grim tone. "Angrily. Punching, kicking, you name it...whoever did this wasn't holding back."

Sharon sighed, her gaze flickering involuntarily to the gruesome crime scene photos. It was hard to imagine that someone would want to do that to the smiling young woman in the DMV shot.

She swallowed hard and looked back to the ME. "Were you able to find any evidence that it was Farris who did it?"

"Ah...and there comes the bad news." Morales grimaced. "The answer's no. Actually – and keep in mind that I haven't performed his full autopsy yet, because even I'm not _that_ good at multitasking... but, from a quick glance...I'd say it's pretty likely that your suspect didn't do it."

Provenza pinched the bridge of his nose. Sharon shifted slightly on her feet, trying to mask a similar display of disappointment.

For once, it'd have been nice to have an _easy_ answer.

"First of all," the doctor went on to explain, "there's almost no skin damage to his knuckles...which in and of itself isn't much to go on, since he could've worn gloves while he was beating her to death, or he could've kicked her more than punched her...but, while I was looking at his hands, I _also_ noticed some swelling and slight deformation on the some of his fingers. It was present on both hands, and on his wrists, and the location and symmetric spread kind of tipped me off."

"Ah."

Tao's knowing mutter drew everyone's eyes to him.

"Rheumatoid arthritis," he nodded wisely. "My mother-in-law has it."

Morales confirmed with a nod of his own. "That's my guess. Signs of early arthritis. It's hard to tell for sure without checking his medical records, but there's a good chance that Farris wouldn't have been able to hit your victim hard enough, or for long enough, to cause the kind of damage that we're seeing. At least, not on his own."

Sharon frowned. "Could you tell if it was just one person who beat her, or several?"

The doctor hesitated. "Not with one hundred percent certainty," he admitted. "I didn't find any usable prints. I did get a few knuckle impressions here and there, but lab's gonna have to compare them and see if they could belong to different people." He took another glance at the photos on the board as he gathered his thoughts. "There didn't seem to be multiple simultaneous hits in the same regions, and the location of most of the breaks makes me think that it was all the work of one person. And I hate to make your jobs harder... but I don't think that person's downstairs on my autopsy table."

* * *

"So Regina Thompson was in Johnny Farris's trunk, and all evidence points to the fact that he knew she was there, and most likely put her there himself...but he didn't actually _kill_ her." Tao scratched his head and sighed. "I guess that brings us back to Amy's theory."

"That he was probably disposing of the body for someone else," repeated Sykes.

Flynn crossed his arms. "Yeah...but who?"

That, of course, was the million dollar question, but it was looking increasingly unlikely that they'd find an answer that night.

Sharon stayed quiet for a moment longer, thoughtfully cataloging the information they had so far, before she looked up again. "Anything else, Doctor? Time of death...?"

"I'd say...twenty to twenty-four hours," replied Morales. "The body's obviously been moved, so without knowing exactly where she's been it's a little tricky...but she's still in rigor, and estimating by Kendall's initial temperature readings, I'd err on the low side. Twenty-two, maybe."

Amy quickly did the math. "That puts time of death at around eight-thirty p.m. last night."

Sharon nodded, then glanced at the ME, silently asking him if there was any other helpful information he could give them.

There was. "The victim's got some defensive wounds, but whoever attacked her overpowered her pretty quickly," he told them. "Assuming just one killer... it must've been someone with a reasonable amount of physical strength. Most likely male, although I wouldn't one hundred percent rule out anything. And almost all of the injuries are on her face, chest and stomach," he added, "so she probably wasn't attacked from behind."

"Argument gone wrong...?" guessed Mike.

"Must've been one hell of an argument," Morales sighed. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "I think that's all I've got for now. I've sent some evidence to the lab for further processing, so you should hear if we get anything new. I'll let you know if I find anything else on Farris's body, too."

Sharon dipped her head. "Thank you, Doctor."

The ME hesitated for a moment; he looked back at the crime scene photos, and shook his head, "I hope you find whoever did this soon..." A pause, then he arched his eyebrows – "And when you do, you might want to stay out of range of his fists."

Without meaning to, Sharon glanced at Julio – and he caught her eye and gave her a look that was almost reproachful. She didn't appreciate it. But she couldn't blame him, either... Again, it looked like they each had reproaches to make to the other.

Suppressing a sigh, she gazed back to Regina Thompson's smiling DMV shot. The crime scene photo next to it made for a sobering contrast.

And their best connection to the young woman's killer was lying on an autopsy table in the morgue, while the killer himself was still out there. Concealed, unknown. Free.

Unpredictable.

It bothered her a lot more than she cared to think about.

She spotted her tea mug on the edge of the nearest desk, and, absently, reached over to curl a hand around it. But the warmth that had comforted her earlier was gone. The porcelain felt only lukewarm beneath her slightly shaking fingers.


	4. Surface Tension

**Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter!**

**This update was meant to also include more case progress - but then Rusty and Sharon had too many thinks ;) so in the interest of avoiding 8000-word chapters, the case update will follow soon, in chapter five! **

**Phantom Hazards (4)**

It was the third time that month that he walked in to find Sharon asleep on the sofa.

Rusty cringed as the door behind him clicked shut a lot louder than it should've. But after a few seconds, when the noise didn't seem to have woken her, he let his shoulders relax and proceeded to take off his shoes.

He also let out a long mental sigh.

He'd told Sharon like ten times to stop waiting up for him on Thursday nights, but obviously she was determined to ignore him. Which was _ridiculous_, because this accomplished absolutely nothing – except maybe for making him feel bad! – and no matter how much Sharon disapproved of his schedule, his Econ section still ran from eight to nine-thirty on Thursdays and there was nothing he could do about that!

He managed to stop himself before getting into a full-blown fight with her voice inside his head. That wouldn't accomplish much, either...but he just didn't get how Sharon could sometimes be so totally..._impossible_ about everything.

It came as no surprise when he started to feel worse about three seconds into his mental rant against her. With another sigh, Rusty gave up on the whole thing. They'd run through the same argument enough times already that he knew it wasn't worth rehashing. It was probably easier to just accept that for every Thursday for the rest of the semester, and possibly for the rest of time, he was going to come home to find Sharon passed out on the sofa from having stubbornly waited up for him.

Great.

It was even more depressing that this kind of thing passed for normal in his life.

Like the previous two times, Sharon again had a case file in her hands. She'd obviously dozed off while reading it; her glasses were still on. Glancing passingly at the file as he shrugged the backpack off his shoulders, Rusty was relieved not to see Philip Stroh's face staring back. Not that he thought that Sharon would bring that home with her, but... well, he was relieved anyway.

Sort of.

He tried to move quietly, so as to not wake her. She didn't look all that comfortable, half-sitting up against one of the throw pillows and with her neck at a painfully awkward angle, but she did look like she needed the nap. She'd been more tired lately, and shorter-tempered, too. Rusty didn't need to wonder why.

They didn't talk about it much. It had been his choice in the first place to do so, and it was his choice still, only... he hadn't imagined that _not_ talking about it would still be so... heavy.

He just wanted to live his life as if Phillip Stroh didn't exist, but Sharon was making that awfully hard – and he was angry at her for it, but at the same time he couldn't really be _too_ angry, because she hadn't said a word about it in weeks and he _knew_ that she was _trying_, except...

The angry part of him wished that she'd try harder, because he still didn't feel free.

But he didn't know what else to ask her to do, either. Other than to let him be, which she tried, and to stop worrying, which she obviously had no intention of doing, and Rusty had run out of ways to get mad at her over that. So they just didn't talk about any of that stuff anymore. And he was by turns resentful and guilty over feeling resentful, and Sharon was just tired all the time.

Phillip Stroh was the nightmare that never ended, and much as Rusty gave it his best shot to put it behind him, sometimes it seemed like the entire universe just refused to let him go.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

* * *

He'd debated waking Sharon up, but in the end decided to just get her a blanket before he went to change. He must've moved too loudly, though, because she stirred when he tried to drape the blanket over her, and her eyes opened. "Oh. Rusty."

He grimaced, and whispered "Sorry," backing up slightly in case she wasn't fully awake yet and could just drift back to sleep. But Sharon blinked against the light, and then straightened, wincing a little as she sat up. The blanket slid down over her knees.

"How was school today?" she asked hoarsely.

He took that to mean, 'did anyone try to murder you today'. "_Fine_." The word came out a lot harsher than he'd intended, and Rusty felt bad all over again. He looked for something else to say, to soften it. "Good. Uh... we started the "family construction" unit in sociology. Today was all about the...ah, 'changing landscape of traditional family', and how these days the meaning of the word is changing to include all sorts of forms of family." He paused, and added drolly, "I think I've got some pretty good source material for my weekly response paper."

Sharon smiled, putting her hand in front of her mouth to cover a yawn, "I imagine so, yes."

Rusty gave her a onceover that he hoped didn't look too exasperated. "How was _your_ day?" He glanced at the folder on her lap, "New case...?"

"No. Well – we did catch a case," she amended, "but this isn't it. This is more of an...ongoing situation." Sharon leaned forward to place the folder on the coffee table. When she saw his curious expression, she sighed and added: "One of our suspects filed a complaint against Julio."

"Oh." That didn't sound good. "Did he get into a fight with him or something?"

"No, actually. This complaint is completely unfounded."

"...but?"

Sharon hummed. "But, with the record of Julio's recent behavior... even if this time, there's no ground for a complaint, it can still have... consequences. Professional Standards and the City Attorney have become involved, and that's complicating matters."

"Is he going to get in trouble?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "It's hard to tell for sure." After another brief deliberation, she continued: "When Julio came under investigation by Internal Affairs, in January, he was given a certain period of time to work on improving the problematic behaviors. That period of time hasn't elapsed yet...so technically, there's no reason for FID to take any action against him, at this stage."

There was definitely another silent 'but' in there. "At this stage...? What about like, later on? What happens if he doesn't...'improve the problematic behaviors'?" That was such a Sharon way to phrase it.

She nodded to acknowledge that he'd picked up on the key issue. "Things could...become a little more complicated, at that point, yes." Clearing her throat, she pushed the blanket off her knees as she prepared to stand up. "But I'm hoping that Julio and I are able to address the situation, before it comes to that."

Rusty glanced again at the folder on the coffee table. It looked pretty thick. "Yeah, hopefully," he agreed. Julio was definitely one of the good guys. It didn't make much sense that Internal Affairs would try to get him fired for beating up some dude who was stealing from his mom. When Rusty had asked Sharon about that, she'd given him a lengthy explanation on rules and responsibilities and the particular importance of proper conduct for officers of the law...and he _got_ it, except he still wasn't sure that he wouldn't have done the same, in Julio's shoes. It wasn't like he didn't know what it was to be angry about that sort of stuff. And if someone had tried to do that to Sharon, he'd want to make them sorry for it, too.

Not that he could tell Sharon that. She'd probably send _him_ to anger management.

* * *

He only realized that he'd been scowling at the coffee table when he felt Sharon's hand brush his shoulder as she walked past him into the kitchen. He briefly met her searching gaze – and she didn't _ask_ anything, but her head gave that little twitch that was meant to check if he was alright.

Rusty tried to compose his expression into something as nonchalant as possible, and quickly racked his brain for something to say. Luckily Sharon saved him the effort:

"Did you eat dinner?" she asked as she placed her empty teacup in the sink.

"Uh...yeah. Yeah, I grabbed some stuff with some kids from my study section before it started – I texted you, remember?" She hummed a vague affirmative, and he hurried to add, "Figured it'd be easier, you know, than driving all the way back here and then back again...and like... it would save gas, too..." He wasn't sure exactly why he'd started feeling the need to defend himself, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that Sharon totally wasn't on board with him spending so much time out on his own.

He swallowed hard and tried not to get mad at her over it, because she wasn't actually _saying_ anything and he'd been having way too many head-fights with her lately.

Since she didn't _look_ mad – she'd just nodded while he spoke, and sent him a quiet smile over her shoulder when he was done – he decided to press his luck:

"Uh, so I might just like...do that, on Thursdays...? Soc lecture ends at five," he scrambled on before Sharon could respond, "so, like, there's no point in just driving home for less than a couple of hours only to go back for the Econ section, right? And these two other kids from Soc are in the same section, so we're just gonna hang out at the library and then have dinner right before class..."

"Sounds like a good plan," Sharon murmured when he had to stop for a breath. She turned off the water and placed the clean teacup on the side of the sink.

Rusty sighed.

"Yeah..." He cleared his throat, then shifted his weight from one foot to the other. For a moment, he considered asking her honestly if she didn't mind – but then if he asked her, he'd have to live with her answer, and he very much doubted that that answer would be the wholehearted endorsement he was looking for.

He hated the way he was causing Sharon more worries, again – really, _really_ hated it, so much that it made his stomach hurt.

But he didn't want to give up his freedom, either. Or whatever he had that passed for freedom, these days. However incomplete and awkward it was, it was still better than the alternative...and Rusty thought that maybe he could even forget about Stroh entirely, if only Sharon wasn't so... _bad _at it! It was even worse that they could go for a while with everything feeling normal, and then suddenly he'd catch her looking at him, or see an expression she didn't manage to suppress in time, and he'd just _know_ what she was thinking, and... he hated _that,_ too.

He scratched his neck and watched Sharon take about fifty years to arrange the dishrag on the oven door handle, and put a box of tea back into the cabinet.

She didn't say anything else on the matter when she turned around, though, and when she smiled at him, it was with no more than the usual amount of worry.

"Uh...so...I'm pretty tired, so..." He shot a look down the hall, then back at her.

"Don't stay up too late watching movies," she replied as she walked back into the living room.

Rusty rolled his eyes, his train of thought derailed. "Okay Sharon, when have I ever done _that_?" He paused. "Lately. When have I ever done that, _lately_? You know I'm like, nineteen years old, right?"

Sharon was doing a terrible job containing her amusement behind a tight-lipped smile. He pulled a face, "Fine. Whatever."

After folding the blanket he'd brought her back into a neat square, she draped if over one arm and reached to squeeze his elbow with her other hand. "Goodnight, honey."

He brushed her arm before she let go. "Goodnight. And I don't watch movies until too late...!" he reiterated to her retreating back.

He tried not to let his lighter mood evaporate when she stopped by the door to intently double-check the locks.

* * *

The night passed all too quickly, as most nights did, lately. Though it could feel otherwise, as she sometimes lay awake for ages trying to get her brain to shut down and her heart rate to slow, the nights were too short, and before Sharon knew it, sunlight was breaking through her curtains and she woke up feeling as though she'd only gotten half the sleep she needed.

It was entirely possible that she _was_ only getting half the sleep she needed. That might've also been correlated with the fact she was certainly getting double the amount of _caffeine_ she needed.

As she pushed off her covers, she reminded herself to take a new box of tea to the office.

The smell of brewing coffee hit her as soon as she'd opened her bedroom door, and she inhaled deeply. A glance toward the closed door to Rusty's room confirmed that he was still asleep, so she proceeded to the kitchen to have a glass of water. Another morning habit that she found oddly energizing. The coffee machine was a few minutes away from being done, but it would be waiting for her by the time she'd showered and gotten dressed. Water glass in hand, Sharon walked over to open the fridge, and peered inside a little doubtfully. She was neither too hungry, nor had any particular urge to make anything that required cooking – but there was only that many mornings in a row that she could feed Rusty sugary cereal before feeling bad about it.

Even if he was "like, nineteen years old".

In the end, she compromised by pulling out the peanut butter and a couple of flavors of jam, and chopping up some mango, watermelon, pineapple and strawberries. She set the bread next to the toaster and, surveying her work, decided that it was reasonable enough for seven-fifteen a.m. on a Friday. And Rusty usually dropped by the station for lunch after his classes were done on Fridays, so at least she didn't have to worry about him going hungry for too long.

The fact that he finished class early on Fridays was a relief that she tried not to think too much about.

She went through her morning routine, allowing the rhythm of her well-established habits to relax her as much as possible.

She was just finishing her make-up in front of the bathroom mirror, when a bleary-eyed Rusty dragged himself out of his room. College, even the early classes, still started over an hour later than St. Joseph's used to – but her son had quickly adjusted to the transition, and was now perfectly happy to complain about seven forty-five being too early every bit as much as he used to about six-thirty.

He shot her a half-lidded look from the doorway, and made a sort of guttural croak that she translated into 'are you done with the bathroom'? Smiling her good-morning, she exited and headed for the kitchen. "Breakfast's almost ready."

"Mkay." He craned his neck out the door about eight seconds later and also muttered something that might've been "thanks".

Sharon smiled to herself, and tried to ignore the pang of anxiety that shot through her stomach at the thought that he'd soon be going out of her sight again. Out into that terrible, _wrong_ world which still stubbornly harbored someone who wanted to hurt him.

Sometimes it just didn't make sense to her, how things could be so unfair. She'd lived her life believing in a basic universal goodness, in a sense of fairness and justice which were maybe not always respected, but which could always be hoped for, worked towards, restored. But there was nothing fair, or just, or good, about this world that made Rusty overcome so many obstacles only to constantly throw worse ones in his path.

Often, when she thought about it, Sharon just couldn't bring herself to _understand. _ If she spent too long dwelling on it, all she could come up with was a hot sort of anger, directed at the universe that seemed so intent on denying Rusty the normal life that he'd worked so hard for. That they'd _both_ worked so hard for.

Each time that happened, she suppressed the anger and swore again to herself that that they'd keep working for it. Whatever happened. Sharon had absolutely no intention to ever stop fighting to get her son the life that he deserved.

But a small, small part of her was starting to feel terrifyingly powerless.

And she was tired. Sometimes, she was afraid of just _how_ tired she felt.

With a determined headshake, Sharon rallied her thoughts out of that depressing spiral, as she did every time. She might not have been handling this as well as she could have, or should have... but she also had plenty of experience dealing with difficult situations, and she hadn't lived nearly sixty years without learning how to handle her frustrations and fears. Letting her emotional mind take over and panic was a great way to accomplish absolutely nothing.

She threw some bread into the toaster instead, and set out plates and cutlery. Her coffee had also cooled down to a reasonable temperature, and she once again inhaled the strong smell before taking a sip. By the time Rusty walked into the living room a little after eight, wearing mismatched socks and with his wet hair sticking out at odd angles, she'd set the fruit bowl out, had a small stack of toast ready, and the morning news playing in the background. She muted the TV as they sat down for breakfast.

"Thanks," Rusty said again, sounding considerably more articulate. He grabbed a piece of toast and put it on his plate, then began to unscrew the lid off the peanut butter jar.

They kept a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, while Rusty entirely focused on making himself a sandwich and then eating about half of it in one bite. When he caught Sharon's look, he chewed an extra few times in a very dutiful manner.

At least he still recalled her lectures on inhaling food.

* * *

"How's your schedule for today?" she asked when she judged that he'd ingested enough nourishment to handle proper human conversation.

Rusty shrugged, his way of saying 'fine'. "Math lecture at nine," he mumbled. "And like I said, I already know most of that stuff from St. Joe's. And from Buzz, I guess," he added as an afterthought. "So that's always pretty easy. Then we've got some kids presenting in first-year Comm seminar... and Econ lecture until noon." He arched his eyebrows at her in a wry expression. "So basically, a really exciting day."

Sharon wasn't sure how she felt about the noticeable increase in his sarcasm levels, lately. But then, she also wasn't sure that she hadn't just grown more sensitive to it...and in any case, snarky teenagers were hardly something she wasn't used to handling. Current snarky teenager included.

She smiled sweetly at him. "Will _you_ have to present in the Comm seminar, at some point?"

Rusty pulled a face that let her know that schoolwork-related reminders would not be tolerated.

But he nodded as he drank his orange juice. "Not until like, late March, though," he said as he put the glass down. "So I have almost a month to prepare. And I can't start _too_ early," he informed her very seriously, "since we're supposed to present on a current event. So I'll have to wait to pick something that'll actually _be_ 'current' when I'm presenting."

"Ah," Sharon nodded back, her lips pressing together to keep from laughing at her son's increasingly logical arguments for not doing schoolwork in advance. "Of course."

He looked impossibly endearing, so clearly smug about having made his point, yet also quite obviously trying to figure out if she was laughing at him or not.

He reached for the peanut butter again, but when Sharon slid the fruit bowl a few inches in his direction, he scooped out some strawberry halves instead, and compromised by arranging them on top of his open-faced sandwich. For a short while, silence reigned, broken only by the soft clink of his knife against the plate, and the quiet whir of the fridge. Sharon curled a hand around her coffee mug, enjoying its warmth as she let her thoughts wander to the day ahead.

After another few moments, she looked to Rusty again:

"Your classes are done early on Fridays, right?"

When he made a noise of agreement around a mouthful of sandwich, she went on, "Were you still planning to stop by the station for lunch?"

He gave her a sort of half-nod while speed-chewing. "You said last night that you had a case, though," he muffled out.

"We do, yes."

Rusty swallowed. "So, _should_ I still come by, or...? Will you be at like, a crime scene or something?"

"Oh, no... I think we're well past the crime scene examination stage – unless we get very, _very_ unlucky," she gave him an amused look, then added: "We have interviews scheduled for most of the morning, actually. So everyone should be around if you drop by, and I'm sure they'd all love the chance to say hello and catch up."

He sighed. "Sharon, it's been like, four days since I've seen everyone."

"Still."

Rusty chose not to comment further, simply giving her his 'you know you're weird, right?' look as he grabbed one of the jars of jam. Sharon wasn't exactly keeping an inventory of how much he ate, but judging by the quickly dwindling stack of toast, it at least seemed that the extra stress in their lives had not cost him his appetite.

She took another sip of her coffee, then cut a piece of mango in half on her plate.

"Do you have any plans for the afternoon?" she asked as she put the knife back down.

There was a brief silence, and Rusty fidgeted in his chair.

Though her silent alarms went off instantly, Sharon kept her expression in check, only giving him a casually curious look to go with her question.

The boy shrugged. "I don't know...I was thinking...there's this "spring activity fair" thing at the student center," he told her, "it's like, basically all these student groups advertising their stuff to the new students...? And there was a chess club on the list, and this cool comicbook-art exhibit...and I guess a bunch of kids from my classes are going, so..."

He looked so uncertain, hesitating somewhere between informing her and asking her for permission, that it made Sharon's chest hurt.

But the thought of him distractedly wandering around in a crowd of hundreds of strangers made her stomach hurt.

"...It sounds like it could be a fun event." What was she _supposed_ to say? 'Never leave the house again'?

"Yeah... so uh... I guess I might do that." Rusty gave her another uneasy look, but he seemed to relax a little seeing her smile, so Sharon held on to the smile as convincingly as she could.

What else was she going to do?

"What time is it at?"

"Uhh..."

Oh God, he didn't even know the time. Never mind, she could find out from the school's website, she guessed.

As could anyone else in the world, if they had a reason to.

God.

She was well aware that panic was a ridiculously disproportionate reaction to her son telling her he was going to a student activity fair. But it was hard to rein it in, when her brain insisted on presenting her with images of Phillip Stroh grabbing Rusty's arm and dragging him out at knifepoint from the milling crowd of noisy, unsuspecting freshmen.

With an effort, she stopped her brain from going too far into contingency-plan mode, and tried to pay attention to what else Rusty had to say.

"It starts at like, three, I think..." he was frowning, trying to remember, "I don't know, that's when these two other kids from Econ section are going..."

At least he was meeting friends. He wouldn't be entirely alone in the crowd. But she couldn't count on that...people always got separated at this kind of event, and how well did he even know those other students, anyway? And what good would they _be_, if...

"...if I go there right after, I guess?"

What?

She focused back on the conversation a moment too late, and saw Rusty giving her an expectant look. Smiling, she cleared her throat and hummed neutrally, trying to reverse engineer whatever question he'd just asked.

"Hm...?" she conceded at last.

"Yeah, I mean, if you don't mind if I hang around a little after lunch. Makes more sense than driving back home and then back to campus..."

Sharon suppressed a sigh. Her son was all about optimizing driving times these days, it seemed. Maybe she should start paying for gas again.

At least she'd figured out what he was asking about. And it was ludicrous that he'd ask if she _minded_ him sticking around the station after lunch, when all she _wanted_ was to figure out a way to keep him there - all day, if possible.

"It does make sense," she agreed. "And of course it's alright if you stay until it's time to meet your friends."

The look he gave her let her know that he could tell exactly what she was thinking and not saying. But he didn't say anything else, either, choosing instead to focus on silently spreading peanut butter on his last piece of toast.

Sharon poked at the mango on her plate, and gave herself a stern mental lecture on managing her worry levels.

Seeing how half her brain spent that time trying to think of potential ways to discretely ensure increased security at the student activity fair, it was safe to say that her stern mental lecture didn't do a very good job.

* * *

**I meant to finish this before June 8, but real life and those pesky adulting woes keep getting in the way! But I _am_ pretty incentivized to finish it by June 15, at least ;) so we'll see how it goes. At the very least I'll try to post a few more chapters before that.**

**And speaking of June - did you guys see all those new promos?! It's like all our birthdays combined into one! (And with a very evil authority in charge of getting us presents, I guess...!) Please feel free to flail in my direction over any of the new information we got, because I'm not sure how to survive the suspense until June 8, honestly. **


	5. Ticking Clocks

**Last update before the premiere! (*hyperventilates*) Thanks to everyone reading &amp; reviewing this :) your comments always make my day.**

**Phantom Hazards (5)**

Halfway to work, Sharon remembered the box of tea. It was sitting out on the kitchen counter. At home.

She couldn't even work up the proper energy to care about it anymore.

When so much of her emotional resources were going into worrying about more important issues, whether or not she had her tea at the office wasn't even a blip on the radar.

She made it to the murder room just before nine, to find Lt. Provenza scanning a second ME's report, a black marker in his hand as he added some new information under Farris' picture on the murder board. Everyone else was at their desks as well, just settling in, with fresh cups of coffee and the usual low-level buzz of activity as they started their day. She spent a few moments exchanging 'good morning's and taking in the new comments on the board, before turning to ask for updates.

"Dr. Morales finished Farris' autopsy, and confirmed that he couldn't have been Regina Thompson's attacker," Lt. Tao went first, looking up from the phone call he'd just ended. "The lab also analyzed the knuckle impressions that the doctor sent them. They agree with his initial conclusion that there was only one attacker."

"Which would be a lot more helpful," Provenza interjected, "if not for the fact that we still have zero suspects."

Sharon nodded. "The roommate?"

"Laura Suarez," provided the lieutenant. "She agreed to come talk to us when patrol checked up on her last night. Should be here any minute."

"She's also five-foot-two, according to her DMV record," Andy held up a thin file he was holding, "so unless she's some sort of ninja, she's not our killer."

It wasn't going to be that easy, anyway. "What about the background check into Regina's work colleagues?"

"No one tracks back to Farris, Ma'am," said Julio. "We've got a couple of minor records, some traffic violations, and her shift manager was once picked up for drunken disorderly a few years ago...but no one stands out as a potential link."

Sharon let out a slow breath. Even with the new leads to follow, they'd made less progress from the previous evening than she'd hoped. "Alright. Let's get the roommate set up in an interview room when she gets here. And I'd like the contact information for Regina's parents in Bakersfield," she added quietly. "After we talk to her roommate, I'll call and make the notification."

* * *

Regina's roommate had indeed agreed to come in voluntarily and talk to them – but from the moment she'd set foot into the police station she'd seemed to increasingly regret her decision. As she sat down across the interview table from Sharon and Provenza, she grew more agitated by the second.

"Look, what's this about? Is Reg in some sort of trouble? Wait – I don't know anything, okay? If she's involved in anything illegal, I had no idea!"

"You're not in trouble, Ms. Suarez," said Sharon. "We just need you to answer some questions about Regina."

"Do I need a lawyer?"

Sharon suppressed a sigh. That was always a loaded question. "I assure you, you're not under investigation," she hedged. "We need to look into Regina's life, and we need you to help us fill in some blanks. That's all."

The young woman just eyeballed her dubiously, and Sharon felt a pang of annoyance. She wasn't in the mood for babying recalcitrant witnesses.

But...the job was the job. She forced a slight smile. "The sooner you answer, the sooner you can go."

"Now, keep in mind..." Lt. Provenza leaned forward, "like the Captain said, you're not in trouble – but refusing to cooperate with an active investigation is a _great_ way to change that."

She squirmed in her seat, glancing from one to the other. "Alright. Okay." She nodded, "I'll – I'll answer whatever questions I can. But...look, I'm telling you, whatever Reg did, I didn't know about it, I swear." She gave them another nervous look. "...I can go at any time, right?"

* * *

Watching the interview from electronics, Sykes arched her eyebrows as the roommate continued to hem and haw. "She's awfully cagey."

"No kidding," agreed Flynn. He frowned at the screens. "She'd hiding something, alright."

"Her background check came back clean," Amy pointed out. "So whatever it is, either it doesn't involve her, or she hasn't been caught yet."

The lieutenant gave a lopsided nod. "Eh...day's not over."

They focused their attention back on the monitors, while Buzz adjusted the sound button.

* * *

Sharon tried to keep the reassuring smile. "You're not under arrest, Ms. Suarez," she reiterated. "We just need your help."

"Okay... Wait, is Regina in trouble?" her roommate belatedly asked. "She hasn't been home..."

Sharon hummed. "In how long?"

"What?"

Dear God. "How long has it been since Regina was home? When was the last time you saw her?"

"Oh. Ah..." The woman thought for a moment. "I guess... two days ago? Wed – Wednesday, I guess. We have class together, uh, poli sci..."

"What time was that?"

"Three to four."

Sharon nodded. "Alright...and what did you and Regina do after class ended?"

"Uh, I had work at four...I have a two-hour shift at the library on Wednesday afternoons..."

Another nod. She made a mental note to have one of the detectives verify that. "And Regina?"

Laura Suarez shrugged. "I don't know. She went home, I guess."

"Did she tell you about any plans she might've had for the evening?"

"No...?" It sounded more like a question than an answer. She caught herself at Sharon's pointed look, and cleared her throat. "No. No, she didn't."

Somehow, it didn't sound that convincing. Sharon hummed again and rephrased an earlier question. "And when was the next time you saw her?"

The young woman thought for a second, then shook her head. "I told you, that was the last time, I think... yeah, she wasn't home when I got back from the library that evening."

"Is that usual, for her to be out? Would you know where she went?"

Another vague shrug "No..."

Sharon's eyes narrowed, and Provenza spoke up again:

"Ms. Suarez – if you're withholding information, I'd like to remind you that there's such a thing called 'obstruction of justice'...and we're headed in that direction at a nice brisk pace," he added. "So..."

"I don't know!" His warning seemed to have panicked the young woman. "I don't know anything, okay? Reg didn't tell me anything!"

"Obviously she told you _something_," Provenza disagreed, "or else you wouldn't be trying to hide it right now."

"No!" She swallowed. "No – look... I don't – I don't actually know anything, okay? I – I don't want to get Reg in trouble."

The two officers exchanged another look.

"You're not," Sharon assured her in a low tone. "You're not getting her in trouble."

The young woman's eyes widened. "Oh my god – did something happen to her? Is she okay? Where is she?"

Sharon thought for a moment, deciding how much to reveal. "That's what we're trying to figure out," she said in the end, "exactly what happened to Regina. You said you haven't seen her in a couple of days, right?"

The woman nodded, still looking half-panicked.

"We want to find out what happened," Sharon repeated. "So you're not getting your friend in trouble, Ms. Suarez. You're helping her – by helping _us_." She paused for a second to let the message sink in. "What did Regina tell you about her plans for Wednesday evening?"

Laura swallowed hard. Looking nervously from one to the other, she opened her mouth when Sharon nodded: "Nothing... I mean... I asked her if she wanted to get dinner, you know – after I finished my shift. We did that a lot. But...Reg said she had other plans. She didn't tell me what they were, I swear!" she defended at their unhappy looks. "Just that she couldn't make it for dinner..."

"...but you have a _suspicion_ what the plans were," Provenza prompted.

She shook her head, "No..."

"Ms. Suarez," he growled warningly.

"No, I – I don't know, I swear. It's..."

"Ms. Suarez," the lieutenant pressed, "I assure you that everyone in this room knows that you have more information than you're giving us. Now, I suggest you come out with the rest of it, before we go back to discussing obstruction of justice instead."

* * *

The door to electronics opened, admitting an impatient-looking Assistant Chief.

"I've had the press calling me since seven a.m.," he said irritatedly, stepping into the room. "I just release the official statement calling this a murder, but it won't keep them busy for long. I need some answers to give them on how a young woman's body ended up in Farris' trunk, and I need them _faster_." Glancing at the screen, he frowned: "Who's that?"

"Regina Thompson's roommate," Sykes provided, "Laura Suarez."

Taylor nodded, remembering the Captain's update from the previous evening. "Is she a suspect? She doesn't look like she could've beaten Regina to death," he added without waiting for an answer. "Is she connected to Farris?"

"_No_," Andy grumbled with an annoyed eyeroll, "and she's not a suspect, either. Although, if we'd been allowed to interview Farris's _associates_," he added pointedly, "instead of sitting around waiting for FID, maybe we'd have a better idea of how he's connected to Regina – and have some _actual_ suspects."

The Chief sent him a disgruntled glare. "I gave Captain Raydor permission yesterday to get his financial records. That should be more than enough to look into, while FID finishes up their OIS investigation. That's the best I can do for you." He looked back at the screen. "Has the roommate said anything useful?"

"She might be about to," said Amy before the lieutenant could argue further, and her timely comment directed everyone's attention back to the screens.

* * *

"Okay. Okay..." After another nervous silence, the young woman nodded slowly. "Regina... she's been a little... I don't know, kind of...weird, lately. I mean – not like, _bad_ weird, just...she's been getting all this new stuff and talking about these weird plans, but it all came kinda...out of the blue, you know?"

Sharon was trying to follow. "What kind of plans?"

Ms. Suarez shrugged. "Nothing really clear, it's...she's been talking about buying a new car, and she's been buying all these new clothes and shoes and stuff... and – okay, this was the weirdest – a while ago she decided that she wanted to go to UCLA and then try law school...?!"

Sharon suppressed a grimace of sympathy. "And that was unusual...?" Personally, she didn't find it strange that a young woman would want to get a better education.

The roommate held up her hands. "Yeah – look, I mean, Reg is real smart, I swear, but like...we weren't even on a transfer track, and anyway, we've never been exactly honor roll kids, either of us, you know? Like, when we first met a couple of years ago, Reg wanted to get famous by going on a reality show! She's even been to a few auditions." She shook her head, "She can't decide if she wants to do her two-year degree in Journalism or Theater Arts, and then suddenly there's this weird law school thing...? That just seemed totally random."

Sharon couldn't disagree. Maybe they were onto something here. "When did she first start behaving like this?"

The younger woman frowned, trying to think. "I don't know...maybe a few months ago? I thought..." She paused, and looked away.

"..._yes_?" prompted Provenza, with marked impatience.

"Look, I don't know anything for sure, so don't think I'm saying anything about Reg...but it kind of sounded like she was a little … manic, you know? Like maybe she was on drugs or something... I mean I never _saw_ anything," she hurried to clarify, "and I don't think Reg is really into that stuff. It's just – I figured that's maybe why she's been so hyper, right? Buying new stuff, talking about transferring and law school, saying she's gonna chase her dreams and... I don't know." She shrugged a little helplessly, "I guess it also just kind of sounds like normal rebound stuff, so..."

She trailed off, and Sharon frowned. After an excruciating fifteen minutes failing to get _any_ useful information out of Regina's roommate, this was a sudden deluge of new facts. It was hard to know where to start.

"Chase her dreams?" she picked at last, and at the exact same time Provenza asked:

"Rebound?"

The lieutenant nodded to defer to her question first.

"What dreams, exactly?" pressed Sharon.

The young woman sighed, "I don't know... I guess she means the whole UCLA thing...law school, changing her image...Look, I have no idea, Reg's been really hard to talk to these last few months, okay?" Another sigh. "It's like after this break-up she had last summer, she got this giant chip on her shoulder, and now suddenly she wanted to be a whole new person." She rubbed her temple, grimacing, "I thought it was a little crazy, you know? Her planning all this stuff without the money _or_ the grades to back it up... but Reg, well, she can be pretty determined. And she's totally convinced that it's all gonna work out anyway."

Evidently, it hadn't. Or at least, not the way that "Reg" had hoped, that much was clear. But other than that, Sharon wasn't sure what to make of the roommate's story.

"So this has been going on for a few months," she clarified, "and in all that time, Regina gave you _no_ indication of _why_ she was suddenly planning on all these changes? Or how she meant to pay for UCLA or law school applications...?"

"No – I mean... we all figured that the UCLA fixation was because of Gray, but...I have no idea how Reg would pay for anything. That's why – that's why I thought maybe she was involved in something... but I don't know, if she was, I never noticed anything, I swear."

Sharon frowned. "Gray...?"

"This wouldn't happen to be related to the break-up and rebound you keep mentioning?" added Provenza.

The young woman nodded.

* * *

"What do you know," said Flynn. "Big surprise – it's the ex-boyfriend."

"Ugh." Buzz groaned quietly. When they all looked at him, he shook his head despondently, "Doesn't anyone else find it depressing that so many times, it's the spouse or significant other who did it? Whatever happened to actual functional relationships? You know," he pursed his lips, "the kind where people _didn't_ murder each other?"

"Oh there's plenty of those still out there," said Taylor, "– they're just not what keeps us in business."

"We don't know that the ex-boyfriend is actually responsible, yet," Amy pointed out. "Maybe he's innocent."

Andy scoffed. "Yeah, or _maybe_ he was holding a grudge against his ex-girlfriend, so he killed her and paid Farris to get rid of the body."

Buzz sighed.

* * *

"Gray is Reg's jerk ex-boyfriend." Laura Suarez frowned as she provided them with more information. "He broke up with her last summer, and Reg took a while getting over it... She was really determined to get him back – she talked about him_ all the time,_ for like, _months_," she grimaced. "Then she kind of got over him, I guess... except that's about when the whole UCLA and law school thing started. That's why I figured it might be some sort of rebound thing, you know...? Maybe she just wanted to prove something to herself, or something...that sounds like her," she added, "she gets something in her head and she won't quit until she's done it."

Sharon nodded silently as she processed what she was hearing. "Did Regina keep seeing Gray, after they broke up?"

Laura Suarez pulled a face. "I don't know... I doubt it, since he pretty much told her he wanted nothing to do with her after the semester was over. If Reg did seem him recently, she didn't tell me. She knows that none of us really liked Gray back when they were dating, either." She frowned again. "Is this what this is about? Did that asshole Gray do something to her?"

Provenza rumbled vaguely. "Does this 'asshole Gray' happen to have a last name?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to answer, then paused. "Uh...actually... I'm not sure what his last name is. Reg and I first met him when we crashed this UCLA frat party last year, and I didn't really see him a lot after that. He never hung out with us..." She rolled her eyes. "It was always Reg who had to go hang out with him wherever he wanted. But, uh...she always just called him Gray. I don't actually know if that was a nickname or something."

"What else can you tell us about him?" asked Sharon. "Do you remember what he looks like, where he lives, what kind of car he drives...? Any details that could help identify him?"

"Uh...he's tall...I think he had light-brown hair...?" She fidgeted in her chair at their looks. "Like I said, I only saw him a few times, okay... like at a couple other parties, and maybe once or twice when he picked up Reg, but it was from a distance. I don't remember the car," she admitted, "I think it was one of those silver Sedans."

Great. That would narrow it down to about half the city. "Did he go to UCLA? Was he in one of the fraternities whose parties you crashed?"

"Uh...I think so? Yeah. Yeah, he was definitely in a frat, Reg mentioned that. I don't remember the name, though. I think he was a junior or senior when we met him... oh – I remember that he always looked like one of those cocky little trust fund frat boys to me," she added with a disgusted grimace. "Acted like one, too. Reg always had to meet him whenever he felt like it, and she was always going on about having to look good for him and whatever. She was totally in love with him, but if you ask me, he was an ass from the start. She just didn't see it."

* * *

"Looks like we've got an actual suspect," said Andy.

Taylor crossed his arms, still looking impatient. "We have to figure out who he is, first." He glanced back at the nervous young woman on the screens. "That's not exactly a lot of details to go on. Especially if the roommate isn't able to identify him."

"We've found people with less," said Sykes. "And she might remember other things before the Captain and the Lieutenant are done interviewing her."

Taylor _hrm-_ed doubtfully. "That's assuming that she's even remembering any of this correctly. It all happened months ago, _and_ she admitted that they were all drunk when they first met, and that the boyfriend never spent time with her circle of friends."

Flynn rolled his eyes at the unhelpful comments. "Yeah, go figure...a witness that's not one hundred percent reliable. Never had _that_ happen before."

Taylor cut him another annoyed glare. "Just find the boyfriend," he ordered. "The clock's ticking on this. We need a suspect."

* * *

"There are...thirteen seniors currently at UCLA with the first name "Gray" or "Graham", one "Grayer", and twenty-seven with the _last_ name "Gray", "Grayson", "Grayer", "Graybiel" and a couple other variations..."

Lt. Tao looked up from his computer with an apologetic grimace, as he finished:

"...plus another forty-six in the previous year's graduating class."

Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I'm cross-referencing the list with records from the DMV to see which of them have a silver Sedan registered to either their own name or their parents'," Mike added. "And I'm trying to get access to the UCLA Office of Student Life records, so we can sort out the frat members. But," he sighed, "UCLA has a nearly twenty percent Greek life participation rate, so I'm expecting that between that and the car, we'll still only narrow it down to about a dozen people...if we're lucky."

"Better than a hundred," said Amy. "We can talk to each of a dozen people individually."

"The sooner you get to that, the better." The Assistant Chief had followed them to the murder room shortly after the interview, and had been hovering unhelpfully for an hour. "Chief Pope wants me to make a press statement before the evening news tonight – that's six hours away, and we still don't have a single suspect."

"If we're not careful," chimed in Provenza, "people might start to think that cases don't get solved in a day!"

Sykes turned her face away to hide her smirk. Flynn didn't bother with the turning.

Sharon wasn't feeling much like smiling, but she did privately agree with the sentiment. And she couldn't understand _why _the Chief insisted to hang around the murder room and get in their way – instead of, for instance, going to Robbery-Homicide or Traffic and telling them to stop calling every half an hour demanding updates.

But that wasn't a battle she'd chosen to fight that day. And since there was nothing she could do about Taylor's presence, she tried not to let it get in the way of her focus.

"Ms. Suarez seemed to think that Regina's obsession with UCLA might've been somehow connected to this "Gray"," she told Tao. "So maybe her law school plans were connected, too. Let's see if we can narrow the list down further by seeing if anyone on it is on the law track, as well as in a fraternity."

"Have you notified the victim's family?" Taylor spoke up again. He frowned, "Did we rule them out as suspects?"

Sharon managed not to cringe, but the thought of parents killing their children caused bile to rise in her throat.

Luckily, it didn't seem to be the case, here.

"I spoke to Regina's parents on the phone, earlier," she replied. "I've asked them to come in this afternoon. I'll make the notification in person, once we've talked to them." She rubbed the side of her neck, and glanced at the young woman's photo on the murder board. They'd have to make sure to cover that when the parents walked in. "We checked with the father's office, and he was working on Wednesday afternoon," she added in response to the Chief's second question. "We're still checking on the mother, but neither of them are on our suspect list at the moment."

Taylor let out a rumbling sort of hum, a mixture of acknowledgment of her answer and dissatisfaction at having no proper suspects yet.

Provenza's desk phone went off, and the lieutenant took one look at it and rolled his eyes with an exasperated groan. "For god's sake, I didn't have to talk so much to Robbery-Homicide when I was _in_ Robbery-Homicide! Here," he shoved the phone at his partner, who'd been standing by the murder board, "Flynn, you like talking to them. See if you can get them to stop calling every five goddamned minutes."

Andy took the phone with an eyeroll of his own, and barked some sort of unpleasant greeting into it. Tao was on the phone as well, presumably trying to get the UCLA records they needed, while, at their respective desks, Amy and Julio continued reviewing the financial and phone records they'd obtained the previous evening. Sharon used the lull in conversation to look down at her notepad, and study again the notes she'd taken during the interview with Laura Suarez. The young woman had revealed a lot of information about their victim, but Sharon was still having trouble putting together how Regina's sudden ambitious plans, her previous relationship, and her death could've been connected. There was a hint of a common thread in there, yes... but it was too obscured to make out, and she had a feeling that they were still missing some vital piece of the puzzle...

"Captain Raydor."

Ugh. For about a minute, she'd almost managed to forget about the Assistant Chief's presence. Clearly he did not intend to let that happen.

She raised her gaze from the notepad and pointedly met his eyes. "Chief?"

He'd propped himself in front of her, arms on his hips. Briefly, Sharon wondered how bored he must've been, to choose hovering over them instead of going back to his office to work on reports or phone calls or polishing his nameplate.

"Since you seem to have a minute," he condescended, "let's step into your office. There's something else I've been meaning to talk to you about."

It was enough to see his meaningful look in Julio's direction, for Sharon to understand exactly what he wanted to talk about. She felt the muscles in her shoulders tense up involuntarily.

* * *

"I had a very unpleasant phone call with Gloria Lim this morning," Taylor informed her wryly, as soon as he'd closed the door. "She's not happy that we postponed the meeting with Sanchez."

Sharon kept her composed expression and tone. "Detective Sanchez has spent the morning tracking down links between Johnny Farris and Regina Thompson, and confirming alibis for everyone close to her." Her eyebrows arched fractionally. "It's LAPD policy that an ongoing murder case takes precedence over administrative issues. I'm sure City Attorney Lim is familiar with those rules."

She refrained from also pointing out that he couldn't demand faster progress on the case _and_ ask her to take herself and one of her detectives out of the game so they can debate the city attorney for two hours.

"I told her that much," said Taylor. "But the fact that your team is in the middle of a high-profile case makes it even _more_ important to make sure that nothing goes wrong with Sanchez. I hope you understand, Captain." He gave her a grave look that only served to irritate her. "We can't have him getting into any sort of trouble. Or, God-forbid, beating up another suspect."

"I'm aware," Sharon replied evenly, "of the concerns surrounding this situation. We haven't brought in any suspects yet – but when we do, Julio will not be in contact with them. He's working research and support on this case."

"Yeah, and that's _fine_," the Chief agreed, "for _now_, but that's not a long-term solution. You can't put this off forever," he warned her. "You've lost control of this issue with Sanchez. Something needs to be done. And if he's not taking anger management seriously..."

Sharon nodded. There was not much to say, really. He was right about her having allowed this to get out of hand – not that she _appreciated_ having her failure pointed out quite like that, but getting angry over it wasn't going to fix anything. "I understand. But I'd like the chance to address the situation with Julio again, myself, before we meet with Sgt. Staples and the city attorney," she said. "I'm confident that it's not too late to get things resolved."

She didn't say that she had no idea _how_ to resolve things with Julio, or even where to start. 'Confident' might've been an overstatement. But if _she_ didn't believe that the situation could still get fixed, clearly no one else was going to, not even Julio himself, and Sharon wasn't about to allow that, either.

So she harbored a confident air and put her best 'trust me, I know what I'm doing' expression into it, and hoped that somehow, she'd be able to get through to her detective before their time ran out.

Taylor seemed to think for a moment, but finally he nodded back. "Alright. You've got until the end of next week," he told her. "Solve this case, then talk to Sanchez and get him to clean his act – or else I'm going to go with Lim's recommendation, and suspend him."

"I'll make sure Detective Sanchez is aware of that."

"_Good_. And Captain – keep him in line," he added sternly. "That FID warning note on his file means whatever he does while he's still on active duty will come back to us – and to _you_. I'm holding you personally responsible for his conduct during this investigation."

Great.

She dipped her head to acknowledge his words. Taylor continued to fix her with the same disgruntled look for a moment... then he sighed.

"Look...I'm not trying to be the bad guy here. I get that you want to do what's best for Julio. But sometimes, you just have to think about what's best for the team," he told her. "Just like_ I_ have to think about what's best for the department. We can't allow our personal sympathies to get in the way."

Sharon fixed him with a blank look. Was he seriously trying to lecture her on how to handle an internal affairs matter?

Despite her attempts at keeping a neutral expression, he must've seen some of the incredulity in her face. "Believe it or not, I understand how this works," he continued. "We all want to cover for those under our command. You're not the first person to try to do it." He paused. "You're not even the first person sitting behind that desk to try to do it."

Sharon's lips pursed a little, as she tried to decide if that comment was intended as a good thing or bad. Probably some of both. She hadn't exactly spent much time wondering about this, but she certainly hoped that she didn't need to add adopting some of Chief Johnson's more questionable methods to her growing list of things to be worried about.

A vague sort of unease churned in her stomach, as she suddenly wondered how much of what Chief Johnson had done had been the woman, and how much had been the job.

She wasn't all that sure that she wanted to know the answer.

As Taylor went on, enjoying listening to himself talk, her gaze involuntarily slid to the pile of Phillip-Stroh-related files on the far corner of her desk.

A knock on the door snapped her back into the present moment, before the familiar icy tendrils had time to fully spread inside her.

"Uh, Captain?" Lt. Tao poked his head in, wearing a cautious expression. "Chief. Sorry to interrupt, but you wanted to know as soon as we had something." He nodded toward the murder room, where everyone seemed to have been energized into action.

"We've got a name for the ex-boyfriend."

* * *

**Isn't Taylor just our favorite fearless leader ever? Yes, I thought so, too ;). **

**Thank you for reading, and this is a friendly reminder to please feel free to flail in my direction over the fact that OH MY GOD IT IS MONDAY AGAIN AND THAT MATTERS AGAIN! Less than five hours to the premiere! **


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